Unfamiliar Road
by Diana Prallon
Summary: But Lady Morgana holds him close when he feels the thread of his father's life snap, and he thinks he may not be alone after all.


**Unfamiliar Road**

It's just a small cut, it should bring such a terrible reaction, but he's lost a lot of blood. He wonders if he'll die, but there's nothing he can do to stop it as darkness takes him.

There are soft hands and cool cloths against his skin, and he knows he must be burning with fever. He can barely see, but the curtain of dark hair protects him. He wonders thinks his mother has come back to him.

His mother is dead — he remembers now — and has been dead for a long time. There is no place for his people in Uther's world; and his father is about to become another victim of the king's hatred.

But Lady Morgana holds him close when he feels the thread of his father's life snap, and he thinks he may not be alone after all.

Emrys' hand is brisk, and he is not using magic, but the power resonate in them any way. Mordred thinks he could never forget that touch, but it does not help.

The ageing voice of the physician brings him back from the fever that threatened his mind, but that only brings the terror back.

Morgana takes him by the hand, and tries hard to save him, but she fails. Mordred doesn't really care.

He screams and screams for Emrys, and feels betrayed when he doesn't come. What has he done wrong?

Mordred is happy to have escaped, but he misses the motherly concern in Morgana's hands as he walks away with people who are strangers in spite of being kin.

hr/hr

He volunteers to take care of her when she shows up in camp with her leg hurt. He isn't the sort of boy that is normally fetching pans and boiling water, but he hopes to repay her kindness. And, more than kindness — there's a bond between them that goes far beyond words. She's now starting to notice what he already knew the first time he saw her; her gifts are strong and her spirit kind. As he sits by her bedside all night, he allows himself to dream of a future where they will be together, a family. He'll help and teach her with the rest; she will comfort him and care for him for more than his potential. Maybe, they won't be so broken if they have each other.

There's death, destruction and loneliness. Uther and his men have once more robbed him of family.

Maybe it's time someone stopped them.

hr/hr

He accepts the mission if it means being with Morgana again. He misses her as someone might miss a limb. He hopes, against all odds, that they will succeed.

And Emrys betrays them once again, one more scar in him to prove it.

hr/hr

He ran for so long, and wandered for many places without truly knowing where he was going for so long, that it now feels like he's coming home, even if he has never been to Ismere before. Mordred doesn't quite know what to expect of the woman who had once been so close to his heart; more than half a decade since he saw her last. In black lace, her skin looks paler than before; just a shade over the snow around them. Her hair is dishevelled, but there's the same indescribable feeling in her eyes when she sees him — her soul touching his for a moment before their bodies move to each other. She wraps her arms around him with an abandon that does not match the things he's heard in the last days as they made their way to the fortress.

Mordred feels as if he's finally back to his roots, breathing deeply in her arms, warm and loved once again.

All will be well.

Nothing is ever well.

Morgana's body shows no sign of ill health, but she's sick in spirit. There is a taint in her eyes, as if someone else pulled the strings, mixing the woman he knew to the priestess in front of him. He loved her — loves her — and can't just accept it. A part of him — naive, idealistic — thinks he might be able to take care of her; put her back together. He might take care of her now.

But Morgana wants nothing of love or compassion, she wants revenge and revenge only. She looks for power, as if it could unbreak her, but there are too many pieces. She's too shattered, and so far past help.

It's love, too, that makes him stab her — a hope that he'll free her from her suffering, once and for all. A mercy kill.

Her body does not die, but another piece of her soul does.

hr/hr

All Pendragons do is take, take and take; all Emrys does his hate, hate and hate. Mordred should have known — he must have, in the deepest parts of his heart. There is no place for him in Camelot, no place for him that not by Morgana. He knows he betrayed her, but he hopes against all logic that she might forgive him.

It is not about home — he does not believe in home anymore. He's been too hurt, too scarred to even consider it. It is a truce, an alliance, but it is ireal/i in a way nothing else in his life has ever been. She knows him — good parts and bad parts — and accepts him, takes him back, gives him a place by his side.

They plan for destruction — and this is mercy, too, for some things just can't be fixed.

Morgana graces him with a sword that cannot be beaten, bathed in the dragon's breath.

And together they face the world that rejected them.

Arthur's sword is swift, and he falls, but life doesn't completely leave him yet.

He hears steps, he feels the power vibrating in the air around them. Emrys' magic touches and discards him, as it always has. He does not have the strength to be bitter. It was meant to be like this.

He was never truly alone.

He's in and out of conscience, but there are soft arms around his body and a curtain of dark hair protecting him. He wonders if Morgana has come back to care for him.

It's a terrible wound, it should hurt more than it does, but he's lost a lot of blood. He's sure that he'll die, but he has no wish to to stop it as darkness taking him.

hr/hr

(Mordred knows he is feverish, in and out of conscience, fighting against injures and fever, but he is not sure if he feels Morgana's arms against him or only remembers. The tries not to loose control with a new onslaught of magic coming from the earth, wild and raw as it erupts out of the ley lines that were so carelessly blown up. He hears someone's voice, words being repeated over and over like a mantra, like a spell being chanted.

He opens his eyes, and Morgana is only swaying along the power coming from the ground like a drunken woman. Her fists are clenched as she tries to maintain some control over herself — fighting against smells, visions and voices. Her lips are moving non-stop, and he doubts she even knows what she's saying.

Mordred struggles to reach her — forces her hand open, his own clenching around hers. An anchor. Morgana's green eyes snap open, and she gasps, coming back from the same pits he has been revisiting in his magic-induced illness.

"I won't leave you" he whispers, his very soul behind his words. "You won't be alone."

She nods, eyes more focused, shoulders squared, ready to fight, ready to win, ready to live — by his side.)


End file.
